This lonely hill was always dear to me, And this hedge, which from so much Of the far-off horizon excludes the view. But sitting and gazing, endless Spaces beyond that, and superhuman Silences, and deepest quiet I imagine in my thoughts, where for a little My heart is not afraid. And as I hear The wind rustle among these plants, I compare That infinite silence to this voice. And I remember the eternal, And the dead seasons, and the present And alive, and the sound of it. Thus between This immensity my thought is drowned. And shipwreck is sweet to me in this sea.
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